


Beyond Your Shadow's Reach

by jesidres



Category: Big O
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesidres/pseuds/jesidres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reset of Big Venus has come and gone, leaving the world as it once was, with only the key players knowing what has happened before.  Dorothy is once again without a place to call her own; Roger has wiped her debt to him clean, and the words he said to her when he thought she couldn't hear makes her realize she can't stay as she once was.  What is the last, great creation of Timothy Wayneright to do?</p><p>She isn't sure, but she knows to move ahead, she needs to step out from Roger Smith's shadow, and find her own way.</p><p>But can she ever really forget, being an android? Or could he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weep not for the road untravelled

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of 'What if' continuation of the finale, giving Dorothy the chance to be something other than the damsel in distress, and instead forge her own path. Roger seems to expect her to always be his little sarcastic android, but after his barbs about her not being human and having that very machine core laid bare to him in the worst possible way, she'd be hard pressed to believe he could ever see her anything but a cold machine. And if Paradigm is no longer actively seeking the secrets of a Big, perhaps there should be a new caretaker of the Wayneright legacy...

Dorothy let her vision drag over the the state of this other mansion she had once considered home. Now as well, she supposed somewhat mournfully. Her vocabulary would have to be updated.

The 'reset' had returned it to the time just after Dr. Wayneright had died. Big Venus, the mechanical god that seemed to be able to return the world of Paradigm to it’s natural fugue state, had left the key players untouched, but the rest of the world had been returned, untouched by the destructive hands of the Bigs...and the Paradigm corporation as well. Rosewater's grimy fingerprints had been wiped clean from every inch of this house she had first ‘awoken’ to. Furniture still drawn back for her father… no, creator (for the thought of ‘father’ brought back painful data points), his notes and scribblings still openly sitting on an entrance table. If the reset had been set to a day earlier, or even a few hours, would he still be sitting in his armchair, scolding her for not heeding his warnings and making sure she was alright. A small, negative subprogram hypothesized that had been purposeful on the part of ‘Big Venus’.

Perhaps it was fitting punishment for the android who’d dared to try and be level with man.

The reminders of the elderly man throughout the house made the loss filed in her databanks more prominent. If she had the understanding of the nuances of her emotional programing, she would describe it as an ache, shaking in her wires and circuits to an unknown core. But there was no one to help her understand. Not anymore.

She’d had a choice, of course; to return to the life she’d known for the past year. Big Venus- or at least, Angel- had seen to that. When Rog-...when her former benefactor/employer had made it clear her presence as a servant was no longer required, and her contract fulfilled, she knew that if she were to stay, she would be seen as nothing more than an unwanted burden. Seeing her laid bare at the hands of madmen had undoubtedly left the man convinced of her machine core, and she had no wish to return to the days of chastisement for ‘mimicry’ and ‘pretending’. 

Dorothy did the only thing she knew that had helped, when she had felt like this before, when she had dealt with her 'father's death the first time, and the loss of Pero. She threw her full processing power into cleaning the house of Wayneright, determined to reclaim even a little of lives she'd lost, both on that fateful night at the Nightingale and this morning, when she'd walked out the Smith household for the last time.

The drawing room had come first, filing her father's scribbles in his desk, cleaning floors and dusting all the surfaces. Dr. Wayneright had never wanted her to be a common household android for cooking and cleaning, but she had adapted quickly to her role at Smith mansion (if she didn't process their names, she could handle it-AngelNormanRogerRogerRoger brought back the painful ache to her memory circuits). When she was done, she found herself giving into an unknown temptation subroutine to remove the painting of the original Dorothy- the real girl she was supposed to have become- and placed it wrapped in newspaper in the back coat closet. A human gesture, but there was no one to complain of her 'imitating humans'. She would indulge the subprogram. The piano remained, its warm rosewood different enough for her to stand, but closed and locked, untouched.

Slowly, she moved through the house, filing each into her new life program as she cleaned. She stopped only to engage sleep for a few cycles and to eat the non-perishables still left in the pantry. Her limited taste sensors didn't mind the blandness, and the fuel staved offed concerns on income for quite a while yet. There was even a good store of high quality fuel in the coal shed attached to the kitchen. A stray line of reasoning suggested Dr. Wayneright had planned for the day she would be left alone like this, but she dismissed it quickly when it had suggested those results.

The laboratory fortress proved the greatest challenge of all. While the doors could be opened with her strength just by depressing the handles, she discovered Dr. Wayneright had used the nightingale's key to open them instead. She had found it in his desk, as she had been arranging papers, and later had recognised the shape as she made her way up to the imposing doors. She had to block the memory files of where the other copy of the key had been left, covered in snow to rust.

As she made her way through the mess of the scientist’s half finished work, she recognized much of her own designs in the blueprints he’d been tinkering on. At first, she simply filed them away, well aware of each bolt and screw that made her different from a human. Further along, as she came upon his newer notes, she found the equations and designs catching her eyes more and more.

It should not have been a shock that her creator had planned more updates for her model, to better mimic the human mind and body. She noted that quite a few were almost finished, and explained various open ports and gaps in her subroutines that she had noted in her diagnostics. There were even scribbled information about her current state that she’d never known, sensors she had built with that had never been brought online.

She was mostly unfazed that she could follow her father’s lines of thought so easily, understanding the diagrams and notations of each possible adjustment. She’d even started to continue the notations the doctor had left, correcting a decimal there and extrapolating an answer here. Part of her surmised her expertise in such matters were due, in fact, to her own mechanical nature. Another wondered if such pursuits had interested the girl she had been modelled after. Perhaps… perhaps she could, in time, continue some of these designs. She...well, it was, after all, Dr. Wayneright’s legacy.

In theory, such a task would seem easy enough- following plans and diagrams is something androids had been doing since their inception. In practice, however, she knew that many of the working required quick thinking and improvisation and years of skill. If she truly knew emotions, she suspected she would observe her own hesitation as fear. It would take more than mere interest in Wayneright’s work to spur her to act.

\------

Such an event, however, came unbidden to her door a week into her return to the residence. She’d been carefully rewriting the late doctor’s notes on touch and sensation when the doorbell sputtered, then clanged to life. 

Who would be interested in the occupants of this house. Part of her worried that Paradigm had come to collect her and the secrets housed here, even though she suspected that Alex had abandoned his hopes of building his own Big after his own fall from grace. Beck was still locked away in prison, his dirty hands unable to reach her. Perhaps… no, the possibility of the negotiator (RogerRogerRaaaaaaaaw-geeeer) looking for her were almost 130,3075 to one. She was best to open the door and correct whoever was there that they had the wrong house.

She had not postulated, however, that her visitors would have been looking for Dr. Wayneright, so the harried man carrying an android in several pieces took a moment to register, even for Dorothy. “Hello, I believe you have the wrong address…” She paused, noting the pained look on the man’s face, and the alarming injuries to the other android, “...are you in distress? Shall I call the Military Police for you?” 

The man, probably in his 40s, looked at her in shock, before turning his head back and forth. “Oh, miss, I’m sorry! I was just looking for the robot engineer Dr. Wayneright, since Robbie here got run over-”

“Dr. Wayneright is dead.” Her voice was flat, unfeeling, her own grief buried in her memory core. It was easier to say than accept, sometimes. 

The man in front of her seemed to have enough emotion for the both of them, however. “What? Damn it! He was the only one who knew how to fix Robbie last time, and I can’t take him to those quacks in the upper domes, they’ll just dismantle him for parts… Oh, man, what am I going to-”

The man kept blabbering, but Dorothy was more interested in his robotic companion. The damage, while extensive, were relatively easily repaired with the tools up at the laboratory above. And the connections needed were similar to the repairs she’d often done in repairing the black megadeuce. “I can fix him.”

“...and I’m just too old to do this alone- wait, what?” The man opened his mouth, shut it again, then blinked at her. 

“I can repair your companion here. If you leave him here for the next 24 hours, I should be able to complete all the repairs necessary to keep restore him to functionality.”

“You can?” The words seem to take several minutes to register in the man’s mind. “Really? You really think so? That’s wonderful! Were you….uh… Dr. Wayneright’s apprentice or something?”

Her face betrayed no emotion. “Something like that.”

The man handed her the pieces, delicately, as if each one was worth its weight in gold…. which was quite possible, in an age where the knowledge of true android creation was lost 40 years ago… or perhaps, a mere reset ago.

The worker android (Robbie, his companion had called him… and humans complained that androids had no imagination) could move somewhat with support. So with care, Dorothy got him to the lab with little incident.

She helped him to the operating table, arranging the pieces around Robbie to match where they would need to be reconnected. She wheeled over the torch, wire and toolkit, then sat down to work.

She managed to work faster than she had expected to - much of Robbie’s damage was simply the need to reconnect this with that, and not need to actually rebuild the more intricate servos that worked his hands and feet. She regretted not taking down the man’s number, to amend her original estimation of the time required.  
With one last weld, Dorothy stepped back, flipped back the eye protectors (her eyes may be more accurate and sturdy than a human’s, but overexposure could damage even her optic receptors), and admired her work. “Robbie, can you move your left arm for me, 40 degrees up, then each of your digits individually?”

The android did that and more, flexing the arm and examining her work up close. He seemed to approve. With both his fixed hands, he grasped hers in thanks.

Dorothy smiled, glad she had been able to give the android a second chance, like her father would have no doubt done. She was surprised when Robbie then made a series of noises that sounded like an attempt at speech. “Robbie, was there damage done your vocal output?” He nodded, almost ...sad, she postulated (in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a man she needed to forget). “Show me where.”

He put her hand just under the left side of his metal jaw bone. Although she saw no external damage, she had little doubt that the android was correct in tracing the damage to the space indicated.

This was much more delicate work than she had planned for, but she knew that she owed it to this android, herself and her father to at least attempt at restoring the vocal functions. Such outputs were vital to alert companions and owners on the needs and issues of their function.

“Robbie, I cannot be completely positive that I can repair such damage, but I will try. In order to do so, I will need you to suspend your functions momentarily to get a better look. I will bring you online as soon as I can.” Staying offline for long was an ingrained terror for all androids- if there was no one to ‘wake’ them, they were, effectively, dead.

Carefully, Dorothy removed the outer facial shell to lay bare the intricate workings of the neck and jaw. The connections seemed to be in order…. but the circuit board looked slightly corroded. Gently, she scraped the corrosion away, before noting the missing solder nodes and a single long crack along the board itself. Such work required an incredibly steady hand and attention to detail.

Luckily, Dorothy had both.

If not for own internal chronometer device, she would have been convinced the entire process took a hundred cycles. But in reality, it was a mere few hours between diagnosis to completion. She let out a quick burst of machine code, and relaxed as Robbie came back online.

“Testing, testing...oh, my word, it is good to speak again! Doctor, I cannot thank you enough!”

“You are welcome, however, I am not a doctor. That was my father.” Dorothy did not look up from the toolbox as she put away the more intricate tools with care.

Robbie cocked his head at her, in a quizzical guesture. “But Simon had been looking for a Doctor Wayneright, who had fixed me before.”

“Doctor Wayneright was my creator. I am just an android, like yourself.”

Robbie shook his head and shifted up into a sitting position. “I have been active for the last forty years, and never encountered an android with the skills to work and repair others to level you have just demonstrated. Doctors are those who heal others, yes? Then I stand my original designation for your, Dr. Wayneright.”

Dorothy considered this as the doorbell rang at the front door many floors below. Robbie’s companion, Simon, had returned. After spending a moment to watch Robbie walk and move about on his own, Simon grinned, apparently impressed with her work. “Miss, he looks as good as new! Robbie, I thought you were a goner!”

“I thought I might be in danger as well, Simon.”

The older man looked at the android in utter disbelief. “Robbie…. you can talk?!?”

Robbie nodded. “The good doctor here was able to fix my vocal circuits. It is a...joy to be able to speak after 20 years of silence.”

Dorothy turned to the other android. She had suspected that the corroded circuits were older than his most recent damage, but 20 years?

“Nobody’s been able to fix that, even those quacks at Paradigm! Miss, it’s not much, but here…” Simon pulled out a tight bundle of twenties. “I can get you more, as soon as the month’s out. And damned if I’m not telling everyone that you managed to do what no other robot doc has done! Er… what did you say your name was?”

Dorothy shook Simon’s hand, money and all. “Wayneright. Doctor Dorothy Wayneright.”


	2. Building a Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothy has begun to find her place in the post-Event Paradigm, but curiosity bites at her heels as she goes deeper into her late creator's notes. She may not be ready to build another android herself, but finish one....?

Simon had done better than simply paying her the going rate for repair; he'd told many others who relied on androids like Robbie to make a living and survive in Paradigm City. They trickled slowly down to the old mansion at the edge of the dome, looking for help when others had turned them away.

The work did well to keep her processors occupied, but even as the trickle of cases became a steady stream, she found herself still longing to use her subroutines for conversation and interaction. The… need, as it were, for companionship. The very same that had led her back to the doors of the Smith mansion at the death of her father.

For not the first time, Dorothy wondered why she couldn't go back. Why had the idea of Roger seeing her as the machine she was so horrifying? She would still have been able to function as Norman's aide. Something in her core told her she would not have survived being reduced to a silent witness, however; it would have broken her to see him view her the way he did his car. Roger was only interested in mysteries; once hers had been exposed, there was little doubt he'd let his attention focus elsewhere. Someone like Angel; or Big Venus...

Her vision focused on the half finished prototype that, in another life, had defended this great fortress of a lab from intrusion after being warped by Paradigm's selfish will. Compared to her own design, the prototype was little more than a doll; no doubt created by Dr. Wayneright in his quest to use his Memories to replicate his lost daughter, but after the practice, such a limited model would have seemed hardly worth her creator's time.

But Dorothy had no interest at the moment in making a duplicate of herself; beside a few small tweaks based on his ideas, she was still not ready to handle a system as complex as her own. However, finishing and bringing online a simpler model, someone to help with the house and an extra set of hands during the more intensive... 'operations'...

She could only try. At the very least, not just for her own selfish needs, but the legacy of her father… and that need to save one more android from the curse of 40 years ago. She knew the utter ache one felt in their circuits when they were left incomplete; not quite dead, but not able to come online into the world either.

It took longer than she had originally postulated; at first, she worried that there might still be ghosts of Paradigm's evil grip, but instead, as she worked, she found just the common errors of human failing. Her father had apparently tried to do as much of the build himself as possible, and while understandable, his older hands and eyes had led to failures that would have quickly led to a short or overheating. So she had to double back, checking each connection and part to make sure that it worked as she wanted it to.

Finally, Dorothy determined she'd made the android operational, and began the process of bringing the empty shell online. Her father had already installed the basic operational software, but the instructional core was blank. What should she imput? Anything she placed there would help determine the very basis of the new life's personality.

Her memory accessed a data point, of a time with Norman as they sat in the cockpit of Big O. All androids had once followed a core of rules. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. A robot may not injure its own kind and defend its own kind unless it is interfering with the first or second rule. She had herself noted that such instructions were not included in her own programming, at which Norman had chuckled. 'Humans are rarely so altruistic, Miss Dorothy. Your father wanted you as human as possible, so why force you to follow the rules so few humans do?"

It had taken some time for her to understand what the elder gentlemen had meant. Even if she had not been required to follow them, those rules still held true to her heart. It was why, when weighing her own life against Norman's… and Roger's… she had decided she was not worth the fight. She had no right to demand her salvation over theirs.

While she never would regret the decision, she still had suffered for it. Not for the first time, she wondered if she would have been better off destroyed after those horrible days. Never having to feel so helpless… to hear Roger say those words that had cut so hard into her heart….

But she lived. And even if she no longer could fulfill her own original purpose; she would work to give purpose again to others.

So she gave this little android the rules of robotics, so she would never have to make a choice like Dorothy once had. She gave her ...guidelines about what was precious, and what to value and what to fear. But she left room for this new life to make their own choices, to learn, fall and fail, if only to be better for it.

Dorothy was sure, had she been human, her hands would be shaking in nervous excitement as she vocalized the burst of code that acted as the startup activation for the little robot. All Dorothy could do was wait to see if all the work the last week was for naught. So she back in the steel work chair, and waited.

Slowly, there were signs of movement from the operating table. Slowly, the eyelids drew open, and the green optical receptors glowed with power. One hand, then another, drew up to the face, examining them as they explored the extent of their movement capabilities. Only after they had fully explored them, did they return them to the metal table, pushing the petite female form up to a sitting position.

Dorothy watched this all silently, once again impressed by her creator's craftmanship. Though the little android's head system was still exposed, and her eyes were green orbs against black corneas, the look of curiosity was still evident on the face as it looked into the older android's eyes.

"Creator?" The voice contained a surprising amount of intonation, full of curiosity and innocence that Dorothy took a moment to process what the little android actually said, so startled she was by the silence broken.

Dorothy shook her head. "I was the one who brought you online, yes, but the man who truly created you passed away before your completion."

"Doctor Timothy Wayneright…." The green eyes glowed as the information was processed. "Still, he left me incomplete, unable to come online. Would that not mean you, truly, are direct creator? My… mother?"

Again, Dorothy shook her head. "Hardly. But if you would like, I will be your… older sister. Would that be acceptable?" That would do. So curious, like a young child. Why had she never been this expressive when she was brought online? Was it because of the memories of the original Dorothy she was built to replace told her what she needed to be?

"If it is acceptable to you. You did place it in my parameters to assist you in your work. However, you have not yet named me. From the data provided to me, is it not traditional for family to name a new creation?"

"I had wished to allow you some autonomy in the choosing of your name. Likewise with your hair. As an android, there is little available in the way of rights, even in this city. I did not wish to take away such an expression of individuality from you."

The little android watched her 'older sister' with care. Though she had only been briefly connected to Dorothy when she had finished bringing her online, she had seen data points of sadness and despair that the older android hid from herself. Although she kept herself to the monotone of what humans expected from an android, the little android was in awe on the complexity of emotional depth that this superior android had compared to her own systems. True, it was in the nature of robotics for androids to be selfless; but Dorothy had never had such limitations herself; she was programmed to be human, and her selflessness was by choice alone.

"I will have to process the query for a while. In the meantime, will you permit me to borrow some clothes?"


	3. The Jilted Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what of Roger Smith? What has he become in Dorothy's absence?

While the Wayneright household was welcoming a new inhabitant, the Smith mansion was still dealing with the loss of a body within its walls.

Before R. Dorothy Wayneright had barged into his life, Roger Smith had spent most of his thinking on the couch in his office, close to the giant megadeuce that he piloted and away from the view of the monstrous domes. He had expected, with the enigmatic android's departure, that he'd return to his previous habits, no longer beholden to explain every inconsistency to an outsider.

But even as the Event had wiped her from his life, he found new habits, even those who had been reset, could not be easily broken. If Norman noticed that the Master was up before noon without any intervention, he said nothing of it, nor of the few times the elderly butler had seen the younger man seated at the piano, plunking out the unmistakable tune of miss Dorothy's favorite piece. Even Roger's office, which had been his domain even during Dorothy's residence, felt stuffy and claustrophobic if he stayed inside it too long. Perhaps the little annoyance had rubbed off on him more than he cared to acknowledge.

Although he couldn't blame it all on her. He was avoiding his office the same reason he avoided the massive hangar on the other side of the wall these days. After all the revelations that came to light during the Event and time before it, Roger knew that the megadeuce was more than a simple machine; he'd be hard pressed now to identify which of the two of them controlled the actions of the pair over time. Big O had a presence that Roger could feel in the back of his head; perhaps he always had, but now he was consciously aware of it. And at the moment, he was keenly aware a feeling of… disappointment, or at least a frustration that the megadeuce had with its pilot.

And it was all R. Dorothy Wayneright's fault.

Big O had made *that* issue perfectly clear. When… when he'd offered her the chance to void her contract with him and make her own choices, and she had chosen to walk away, Roger had taken a less than gentlemanly route and squirreled away in the megadeuce cockpit. In the enclosed glass-like dome, he'd ranted out loud of how he felt betrayed that she had been so quick to leave, finding him such a louse she would rather choose a mausoleum than live under the same roof as him, as a free android.

He'd expected silence from the giant robot, or perhaps a mirror of his own sadness and hurt.

Roger had not expected to have the pilot's seat to eject him out of the cockpit with enough force to bloody his nose against the clear crystal collar.

After that, (and after a day to save face while he waited for the swelling to die down), Roger Smith had busied himself with clients and cases, not giving himself enough time to think about what Dorothy would react or respond to each new day. However, after several whirlwind weeks, Roger found himself waiting for a development in a delicate case, leaving him alone with his thoughts on the cold balcony of the Smith mansion.

Once again, their last conversation played like an implanted memory through his mind.

_"Dorothy, when you came to live here, you did so under the obligation to pay for your protection, right?"_

_"Yes. I asked you to protect me, and with the death of my creator, it seemed best to aid Norman in serving you here. You saved my life, Roger Smith, and I owe you for that."_

_Roger had nodded and looked away from her, out to the horizon of Paradigm City. "Dorothy… even if the Event of Big Venus has reset the world, you still saved my life several times over. Without your help, Big O would never have defeated Big Fau. I'd say you've paid off your contract twice over. I don't want you to think you have to stay here out of obligation or a contract. And Angel assures me that the Paradigm corporation won't come after you any-"_

_"You've spoken to Angel?"_

_Roger turned to the android then, startled at the sudden question after such silence. Her red hair, blown wild by the wind, hid her face from him. Not that her emotionless face would have ever hinted at the inner thoughts of R. Dorothy. Was she… jealous? No, she had no reason to be. Probably just curious. "We've spoken a few times since ...that day. She won't tell me everything that happened, but she seems to be doing well at Paradigm. Alex will never again be able to play god with the city, and she says the dangers of the past have been dealt with." He smirked. "She sends her regards, by the way."_

_The slender figure of a girl didn't respond at first. They both stood together in silence, looking toward the giant golden dome that dominated the city before them._

_"Roger."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"If I am no longer your servant, under your employment, what am I?"_

_Roger frowned. Wasn't it obvious? "You're R. Dorothy Wayneright! You're whoever you want to be. Sure, you're an annoying thorn in my side sometimes, but you are more than welcome to continue to stay here. You've proven yourself to be a great asset to Big O and myself, and I know Norman thinks of you as a member of this little family…."_

_He was cut off by the sound of Dorothy landing behind him. "I need to pack."_

_"Dorothy, what are you talking about?"_

_"You've released me from my contract, Roger. It's clear that it is time for me to go."_

_"Dorothy, I didn't mean it like that!"_

_Two sets of dark eyes locked for what seemed like an eon of silence, and Roger felt like something was lost then and had to look away._

_When he'd looked back to her, he had found himself alone on the rooftop patio; Dorothy was already gone._


	4. Androids Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger tries to find a sympathetic (artificial) ear, and Dorothy has her hands full.

Roger hadn't seen Dorothy since she'd left him alone on the balcony. Not to say he didn’t keep tabs on her; the android had an amazing ability to get herself in trouble and even if he’d voided the contract, he’d be damned if something happened to her, under his care or not. He was well aware she’d returned to the Wayneright Manor upon her departure. He’d even staked out the place… once… or twice… alright, maybe more, but not every night. She seemed to be doing just fine, and after a while, when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to find the nerve to get beyond the gate to the front door, he started to feel more and more like he was intruding. So he strategically retreated, reducing his direct presence to a small video camera to monitor the property, and greasing the palms of a few local rats to keep him up to date on the comings and goings. He hoped if the need arose, Dorothy would know she could reach out to him for assistance, but… he wasn’t yet sure how to belay such an offer when he couldn’t even knock on her door. He thought momentarily about sending Norman to check up on her, but that required broaching the subject with the elderly butler, and while he was beginning to suspect he deserved it, he was not quite ready to face the fatherly gentleman’s quiet wrath either.

Still, stewing in the past while the present slipped by was not the modus operandi of Roger Smith, and with a kick of his heels, he dropped off the archway and strode toward the garage. Dorothy wasn’t the only android confidant in Paradigm.

.......  
The Amadeus Bar was pleasantly filled with regulars when the negotiator strolled in. R. Instro had apparently played the final note of the afternoon set, and waved at his friend as he met Roger halfway across the floor.

“Roger Smith! To what do I owe this visit? Not another protege to train, I hope.” While Instro’s faceplate was a single piece, disallowing any physical expression, his tone carried the broad grin he wished to display. How odd, Roger had mused in the past, that an android who wasn’t built for emotional expression had such ease with it, while Dorothy, built to replicate the intricacies of a human girl, seemed to be so bad at it. Maybe instead of the piano, he should have had Instro teach her expression…

“Oh dear, have I said something wrong? Has something happened to Ms. Dorothy?”

Roger snapped back to reality. So much for keeping his mind off they wayward girl. Masking how the question had struck home with a well placed cough into his hand, he looked away from meeting Instro’s gaze. “Dorothy left my employment almost a month ago. I know of her general well-being, but beyond that, you’d have to ask her yourself.”

Instro had the tact subroutines not to question the nature of the termination of the relationship that he, as well as many others, suspected went well beyond the terms of a negotiated contract. “So she must have returned to her father? I had heard that Dr. Wayneright had resumed seeing android patients for repair, but I wasn’t sure it had been the same…”

The two black eyebrows converged together to confer confusion. “No, the late Dr. Wayneright was not among the… resurrected. Perhaps someone is impersonating him…” Catastrophes bloomed in the back of Roger’s mind - Beck was supposed to be in prison, but perhaps someone else retained enough Memory to know that the elderly scientist had dangerous secrets to profit from - and if Dorothy was unaware….

“Whoever they are, they are apparently a marvel in the art of repair, better than Paradigm’s own labs at micro engineering. I had thought of visiting them myself, since I’ve developed some wear in one of my wrist joints. But if you think that this might be unwise, I can see if the Paradigm labs will take another look…”

Roger waved dismissal. “I’m probably overthinking this. If they really are that good, they can’t be any more dangerous than Paradigm. In fact, you could let me know who they really are, I can dig around to see if we’ve got something to worry about. I’ll even pay for the repairs for being my point man.”

“That would be most beneficial, Roger. While business has been much better these days, I’m still paying for the manumission fees…” Roger grit his teeth in sympathy for the android. Even though enough people knew of Dr. Giseng’s traitorous designs for Instro, he still had held the legal rights of mastery of his former partner’s assets, including the innocent artificial man. The best Roger had been able to arrange for him was a legal manumission by buying his own life from the murderer of his father. The negotiator had tried to pay the fees himself, but Instro insisted his own life was worth working for. “Then it’s settled. I’ll call about an appointment tonight, then gladly report back to you my findings. But in the meantime, please, I’d like to hear what you’ve been up to these days...” 

\------  
“Dorothy, you’ve got a request for a consultation at 6pm tonight on a carpal joint issue. Is it alright to add them in?”

Dorothy looked up from the circuit board she’d been soldering to look up at the younger android. “That should be fine, Gale. Will their owner be accompanying them?”

Gale shook her head, sending the long red cooling filaments that made up her ‘hair’ braid tossing. The little android had insisted on having hair like her ‘sister’ when she’d finally decided on her final details, and had even chosen the name as related to the original Dorothy’s namesake. Not that a human would have mistaken the ‘family’ resemblance anyways, since they had identical faces. 

Both attempts by a desperate father to bring the dead back to life. Now joined with his dear daughter in the afterlife, Doctor Wayneright had left behind his half formed ghosts to haunt this world, denied a purpose. Had she done the right thing, bringing Gale online, into a world that would view her with suspicion as an andriod seemingly without purpose.

At least no one would ever accuse her of ‘mimicry’. Her eyes were still black sockets with green LED illuminated eyes, set into an unmoving face. In many ways, Gale had much more in common with the android population than Dorothy did. She did not understand why she was so reticent to use expression, but despite having a face as intricate and malleable as a human’s, she chose to keep her face as passive as the other androids in Paradigm. She was unique, yet still strove to blend in, if not with humanity, then with her fellow androids.

There was only one who might understand this strange halfway space R. Dorothy Wayneright resided in, but she was well aware his secret was one she had to keep, for his safety. After all, why would Senator Fitzgerald have anything to do with a little lost android? To the rest of the limited world of Paradigm, Roscoe Fitzgerald was one of the brave, dying generation that lost their memories forty years ago, and built the great city of Paradigm from the ashes. They had no idea that he was really R. Fitzgerald, an android who not only held Memories from over 40 years ago; but could, and *had* passed for human for the last 40 years, living out his golden years as a powerful Paradigm senator.

Dorothy shut down the thought processes that were branching into dangerous territory. She could not fault Fitzgerald for living the life she wanted. He was not the reason she could not pass for human for the only person who counted, beyond her dead creator.

Her hands traced the tiny circuit board she’d been working on. It was based on the notations Dr. Wayneright had left on the blueprints that had detailed her sensory capabilities. This would increase her breadth of smell distinction ten fold, and was the first step in allowing her to enjoy the five senses that humans seemed to hold in such high regard. Was this yet another attempt at mimicry that would be viewed with contempt by someone like Roger Smith?

Dorothy did not know. But she knew that she was no longer beholden to the whims of the man clad in black, and she alone had the choice on how to live her life.

The great grandfather clock on the ground floor struck five. She would be seeing another patient soon, and her own desires would need to wait. But that was her choice; not anyone else’s.


	5. What is an Android

The grand entrance of the Wayneright house was well suited for a physician to see their patients; the space, while visible from the upper balconies, was fairly secluded from the rest of house, allowing access by either the living room or stairs that led directly to the office and laboratory. Dorothy could see a lone android waiting in one of the chairs below; no doubt her 6 o'clock appointment.

Gently, she smoothed her black lab coat over the grey dress that was quickly becoming her uniform when seeing patients or working in the lab. She'd been so quick to jab at Roger's lousy fashion sense, but there were advantages to wearing the dark color, particularly when dealing with the stains of mechanical repair. She knew her father worked mainly in theory, but still his insistence on the white lab coat was mind boggling.

The elevator dinged, indicating its arrival to the entrance hall. The android stood up as she exited, and Gale, already in discussion with them, turned to introduce her.

"Ah, sister, this is the android that asked you to look at his carpal joint, R-"

"Instro?" Dorothy let her surprise lift her intonation. The jovial, well intentioned android had been the last person she expected to see in the entrance way. It was strange how long ago it seemed, as his student, the two androids had spent the afternoons humoring the good intentions of Roger Smith. She ignored the data of those early days; when Roger was his kindest and his cruelest, treating her like a small, broken child that just needed discipline. "Instro, did Roger send you?" Her tone was neutral, but her gaze betrayed the accusing nature of this question.

The larger android tilted his head, as if the question had never occurred to him. Dorothy knew much of Instro's naive facade was just that; a facade that he used to ignore the insensitive prattle of humans' opinion on androids. However, she couldn't tell how much Instro knew of her resignation from the Smith household, and she wasn't sure if he'd tell her if she asked. "Dorothy, I didn't realize that you were the one continuing Dr. Wayneright's work. How wonderful!" His surprised joy ignored the accusation, once again choosing to focus on the good in a situation.

But to her surprise, he did not simply ignore her defense. He paused, trying to figure out how to answer her question. "I did mentioned to Roger Smith I was making an appointment with a Dr. Wayneright to take a look at my carpal joint, and he did ask me to find out if someone was posing as the doctor for... less than honorable means, but he did not put me up to this appointment, if that is what you're asking."

Dorothy nodded, accepting this answer, even if she did not believe it completely. "I apologize for the accusation, Instro. I admit I would not put it past ...the negotiator to use such a ruse to check up on me." Instinctively, her dark lenses shifted down to the floor.

But as soon as Instro noted the display of emotion, it was gone. Dorothy straightened, and held her hands out to him. "You came due to issues with your carpal joint; which one? Left, right, or both? Does the error occur more often during a certain movement or activity? Please, let me see." She began assessing each of the joints with care; taking note of the movement of each component, from the wiring, to the pistons to the joints of his casing. She frowned as he turned his wrist as she stretched his fingers; she noted the resistence in his pinkie and ring fingers that had prompted his concern. "Instro, you've developed some corrosion or build up of debris in your lower two fingers. It's putting pressure on your neuro-electric wiring, causing a short in certain positions... but that isn't your only issue. I believe there is a issue in the upper signaling. Would you permit me to do an in depth exploration? It would require system suspension, so I wouldn't want do it without your consent."

Instro bowed. "My, you are the spitting image of your creator, Ms. Dorothy; I was going to mention I worried the problem went beyond the joint itself, but you deduced that from a visual diagnostic! If you think can fix it, I will gladly do whatever necessary to correct the issue long term. Although I have been spared the damaged I suffered in penitence for my role in our previous... lives, when this developed, I worried that I would still suffer the same fate."

Dorothy shook her head gently. "Instro, sometimes I wonder if you were not built to be a saint as well as a pianist. There are humans who would do good to learn for your forgiveness and penitence." She motioned him to the elevator to laboratory, and stepped quietly in after him.

Instro was quiet for a moment, as the gate clanged shut and they rose up through the floors. "Would Roger Smith be one of those humans?"

Dorothy's eyes glanced at the other android, but Instro's singular faceplate, as expected, betrayed nothing of his curiosity. "Perhaps. But that is no longer something of my concern. Perhaps it's beyond the role of an andriod to do so."

She took extra care with dismantling the casing of the arm, up to the shoulder joint. Amadeus must have been as brilliant as Dr. Wayneright... the microscopic servos and wiring that made up the fine motor control was breath taking... if she needed to breathe. One would wonder why Amadeus had been so detailed for an android to just to play the piano. She gently cleaned out the corrosion in his finger joints, replacing a seal that had worn away on the ring finger to keep it from happening again. But as she suspected, there were three intertwined wires that were precariously placed at the back of his hand; left unchecked, they would ultimately lead to a short that would wipe out every microprocessor in the lower arm. Given the brilliance of Instro's creator, such a flaw was worrying; why would he leave such a basic flaw unfixed?

She wasn't there to question the methods of the late bio-mechanist, however. For all she knew, this was simply a temporary fix that was never reviewed when the late scientist met his fate. She followed the wiring up through the shoulder, expecting it to end at a microprocessor that combined the signals for the greater fine motor skills. Instead, she discovered the wiring was independent of any other system within Instro, going beyond the shoulder into the neck. Following it further, Dorothy realized these were a prototype neural nerve system. Instro was, after all, 15 years her senior; for all the brilliance that went into his build, there were still gaps in the technology that hadn't been filled yet. This, she could replace, if he had a proper base for the technology...

Carefully, she opened the cranial cavity to check the connections of the fine motor signals and the neural network, to see if she couldn't upgrade the process; if it was too unlike the systems she had studied, her options would be limited. She relaxed her worry protocols when she noted the connections were remarkably similar to her own workings; this she could work with. But then she noted that beneath the obvious android brain build was a unique structure, completely out of place...

Dorothy sat back on the workbench, her processors too overwhelmed by the discovery she had just made to do anything else. No wonder Instro was such a unique specimen of android development, and showed such an amazing example of an artifical intelligence that could express such fine emotional behavioral ability.

Because Instro wasn't quite an android at all. His mind was an unique combination of artificial processors and what was appeared a partial human brain, encased by a cyborg enclosure and wholy dependant on the greater android structure. Thankfully, there was still a significant battery life of the electrical power for it that this momentary system shutdown would not cause any issues.

But this revelation brought up new questions. Whose partial brain did Instro possess? Did it contain Memories that could place him in danger? Did Instro have any idea of this secret? Was she required to tell him if he did not?

Even as she processed this information and developed more questions, her hands worked on the task of attaching new neural wiring to the older android's mainframe, feeding it back through his neck and arm, reattaching the surface inputs, and resealing his outer casing. She presumed it best to see how his system handled this minor upgrade before looking into replacing Instro's whole neural network. Anyways, even it did take, she would need to acquire more high quality optic fiber and silicate webbing to create an adequate neural upgrade. She added it to her internal shopping list; supplies were running low after the uptick in patients and she'd yet to find a reliable supplier.

Her inquiries were pushed into her subroutines as she vocalized a burst of code to bring Instro out of system standby. "Ah, Miss Dorothy, finished already?"

The wiring turned out to be a well received upgrade; save for a minor tweak of his firmware, Instro was thrilled with the greater sensitivity and feedback. Despite her gentle probing, she still could not conclude what exactly he knew of his own origin. Such information seemed insignificant anyhow as Instro marveled at her improvements, and they discussed a plan to continue the upgrade process. All too soon, Instro noticed the time and asked to use a telephone to ring his... ride.

"Ms. Dorothy, ah, I meant to ask..." Instro turned to her after replacing the handset of the phone. "I don't know exactly what transpired between you and Roger Smith, so I don't know how to explain what has become of you, when he asks...."

Dorothy blinked; so focused on the data of Instro's exam, she'd stored the information of Roger's involvement at the bottom of her concerns. A selfish subroutine began to run, suggesting that she should tell Instro that she could care less about Roger's inquistition of the Wayneright household. However, the fact that her well-being, no matter how circumspect, was still a concern of the negotiator's was... comforting. "You can tell ...Mr. Smith... oh, Instro, I don't know. Tell him everything, if you wish. Tell him I have tried to continue aspects of my creator's role in the android community, to do more than be a mechanical doll and annoyance." She smoothed her skirt nervously. "I am no longer trying to 'mimic' humans, so he needn't worry, but I trying to be myself, so maybe he should." She blinked, and Instro tilted his head a tiny fraction, and she felt he would be smiling, if he could. "Does... does that give you enough to say?"

As she watched Instro traverse the mansion's dilapidated walkway (she would need to put that list of home improvement projects) towards the long, black, familiar car at the gates. Even with her sharp vision, she couldn't see the driver through the tinted windows, though there was little doubt of who it was. She wondered if he could see her, and what he was thinking. So preoccupied by trying decode how he would react to the various developments in their lives, that she took a moment to register that Instro was waving goodbye to her.

And with that, they were gone. She drew the imposing front door close, and scanned the empty entrance way passively. Quietly, she returned to elevator and the workshop, mulling over her discoveries, and what she would need to do to continue her father's research.


	6. Old Haunts

"Absolutely none in stock?"

The grizzled mechanic shook his head sadly. "Our usual shipment got diverted to Paradigm HQ- some big project going on. We're too small to get priority here. I can get you your silica wafers, though, no problem. But if you need that fiber, you're going to have to hit up the bigger operations by the domes."

Dorothy frowned at the news; she knew exactly what shops he was thinking of... the very shops she was avoiding from her days in the Smith household. Not that she suspected the employees would be any of those privileged to remember the past year, but their clientele might. Worse, they were often where minor repair components for the megadeuce were acquired, and Roger had open tabs at several of the more discerning merchants.

Still, she would need the fiber for a number of projects and repairs she was working on for many of her patients, and there was no guarantee this shop would get a new shipment any time soon. 

She had left the Smith household to keep Roger from running her life as yet another background pawn for his story; if she let his ghost scare her from her new path, she wasn't cleansing herself of his mindset at all. And the probability of seeing Roger were less than 5%, since he so rarely involved himself with repairs. 

With new resolve running in her programs, she returned to the bicycle she used for much of her errands these days, and carefully tucked up her purple 'a' skirt to ride uptown.

However, spectres are not always so easily banished; she found herself checking the roof lines as she locked the bicycle to a signpost. She had been targeted by an android assassin here, and even if the world had been 'reset', her circuits still ached with the phantom pain of the mechanical dart piercing her skin.

"Optic fiber? You're in luck, missy! we have a few spools left, despite the shortages going about. I'll get some from the back for you; what gauge do you need?"

"26; 30 as well if you have it."

"My word, Miss Dorothy, it is you!" Dorothy straightened her stance at the sound of the familiar voice. While she had calculated the probabilities for running into Roger Smith, she'd forgotten about Norman Burg and his procavility of browsing this shop. If she was more prone to human mannerisms, she would moan internally, for the little it would do. Sometimes, she admitted that certain human emotional responses seemed irrational and useless, though she did have to suppress her inner programs urging her to run and hide. 

What could she say to the man who had been a father figure to her in her time of need? She'd said little to him as she'd left the Smith household, too upset at the harsh reality that a man she’d given up everything would never see her beyond the sum of her parts. Still, she should have done more to reach out the elder man, to let him know how much his lessons were helping her cope on her own. After all, she should know as well as anyone how much a confidant Norman Burg could be.

"Norman." Her voice was the controlled flatline that had marked her time at Smith household, but she allowed a small smile for the fatherly figure rushing over to her. The small act seemed to catch him off guard, his hands pausing from grasping her shoulders.

"My word, Miss Dorothy. Getting you out from Roger's thumb really has done wonders for you, hasn't it? You're carrying yourself like you did when you first came to hire Master Roger, so long ago." He looked her up and down, watching with an eagle eye the humanistic tendencies of her movement; the way her hand fiddled with the seam of her skirt, and the shifting of her weight from one foot to the other.

Dorothy did not see this inspection, as she had cast her eyes past the old man at the mention of her past life. "I'm learning to not define myself so much by the assumptions of others. Particularly not someone who might view me as they would a fancy car or a puzzle they know the answer to." She didn't see the shock of her words on Norman's face, but it was hard to not notice the stiffening of his shoulders to the thought.

"That's quite impressive, Miss Dorothy. I dare say many humans could do well to learn that. But come, you probably have no wish to retread on painful ground; your order seems to be ready, and they're delivering mine to the manor. Would you humor an old man for a bit of catch up? There's a lovely little cafe not far from here." 

Dorothy smiled that soft little smile she'd allowed herself earlier. "I would like that very much, Norman."

The cafe was indeed not very far from the mechanics merchant, and they both took up seats at a little table outside, Dorothy's bike leaning against the wall. Norman had a small coffee, and Dorothy had tea.

She registered a sense of pride in her subroutines at his approval at her current work, something she had not even realized she had craved in her isolation from the close companionships she'd had under Roger Smith's employ. She found that she enjoyed discussing different techniques of android construction and repair. The fears she'd had listed on being recognized was proving more irrelevant and ridiculous as she was reminded that Norman was not going to judge her as his employer might.

In fact, Roger was so far from her mind that when Norman finally did broach the subject of her departure, she was momentarily finding her processors frozen with confusion.

"Miss Dorothy, while I dare say your time on your own has been wonderful for you... what prompted this sudden ...change in careers, and leave our care? Was the events of that final battle so traumatizing, or... was there something said that broke the camel's back?" Norman coughed in his hand, well aware the line he was toeing.

Her optics blinked as her subroutines fell into recursive errors at the question. Did he really not know? Surely, Roger Smith had followed routine and developed his own theory on her leaving, and would have told everyone and their mother these assumptions. Perhaps Norman had heard his side, but wanted to know more, though he seemed genuinely ignorant of the reasons.

So she kept it simple. "Roger informed me that my contract of employment was completed, and that I was no longer in debt to him."

Norman grumbled at this statement. He'd been of the opinion that Dorothy had never owed the negotiation fee to begin with. "And you felt that you were dismissed, then?"

Dorothy shook her head, gently. "No... and yes. Roger said I was welcome to stay, to continue to live with you two. But... there was a dismissal there, in his tone. Whatever enigma he saw in me was solved to his satisfaction. He knew how I worked, and now I was just another tool at his disposal, like the Griffon, or...."

"...The quiet butler in the background, who works with little acknowledgement?" He closed his eye with a smile, his own one-eyed wink to her.

Dorothy nodded, her mouth turning down in a sad frown. "I'm sorry, Norman. I knew you were fine with such a role, but I wasn't built to be a service android. In that moment, I concluded I'd spent much of that lost year defining myself through Roger's view, and the contract was all I had left that allowed me some autonomy in that role. Perhaps it was a side effect of the removal of my memory core, but my programming felt...underused in the role of sarcastic maid. And...." Dorothy trailed off, unsure how to put the last of her deciding factors into words.

How could she explain the dread of realizing that despite a growing hope leading up to the Event, she would never be seen by Roger Smith as anything other than a poor mimic of an individual long deceased? To hear him qualify his emotional attachment to her with 'if she were human'? To know that all his change in his attitude towards her was a superficial lie? "I had thought he had changed his opinion of my identity from his first assessment. However, stripped of my Memories, I learned such hopes were delusions, and the only way he'd change his mind was if I became..."

"...Human." Norman sighed. No wonder the poor girl had left. "I am sorry you felt so demeaned. Had I known..."

Dorothy shook her head. "There would be nothing you could do." She stood up from her chair, brushing unseen crumbs and dust from her skirt. "I really should get back to the house. But... it was nice to speak to you, Norman. Hopefully, we will get another chance to speak, when our schedules allow."

Norman surprised her by answering her with a firm hug. "I will hold you to that, young lady. I cannot say for sure what Timothy Wayneright would say about the path your life has taken, but I can say that he would be immensely proud at your work and drive. Anyone would be, my dear." He embraced her small frame in a fatherly hug, which she returned. “And next time, I hope to meet this Gale of yours. It’s wonderful to hear you’re fixing the mistakes of the past before they even happen this time around. I dare say many could learn from you.”

Something about his words clicked together into a new directive. She’d been so worried about what had been she’d forgotten how much was being repeated. Swartzwald had yet to appear. The Daemonseed hadn’t been unleashed. Pero was still alive! 

R. D….

“Thank you, Norman. You just reminded me of something I need to do. Please, if anything comes up, I’ve paid for Dr. Wayneright’s old videophone line.” With a quick wave, she mounted her bike and sped home.

R. D. still existed. There was no guarantee that Paradigm wouldn’t dig her up again.

But she could be saved.


End file.
